Separate Savior
by CaitlinMF
Summary: Devoted-revisited. He hadn’t been tucked in for years and it had always been by his mother. Having Lois do it felt different, but in a good way. A way he could get used to.


**Authors:** (Aciel) Caitlin and (LavenderLala) Lauren

**Rating:** PG-13

**Genre:** Drama/Action/Hurt-Comfort

**Pairing:** Clark/Lois

**Spoilers:** Devoted

**Summary:** Devoted-revisited. He hadn't been tucked in for years and it had always been by his mother. Having Lois do it felt different, but in a good way. A way he could get used to.

**Separate Savior**

Humans were amazing, Clark decided as he gingerly pressed ice against his ribs. How could normal people take this agony? How could anyone take this agony, for that matter? Maybe it was less painful for them, since they were used to feeling physical pain. He hoped so, because this was torture, in his opinion.

Sudden footsteps made him nearly drop the ice in surprise.

"Chloe, if that's you I'm not feeling very well." He hoped it was Chloe; he hoped it was anyone but his parents. He didn't want them knowing what had happened today, he knew they'd just worry. He could handle it fine. If only these ribs would stop hurting...

He looked up just in time to see Coach Teague climbing the last few steps. Maybe he was here to apologize for being so harsh toward him earlier.

"Hey, Coach Teague."

"Clark, we need to talk." Okay, that was weird. Clark mentally shrugged it off and wondered if coach Teague knew anything about first aid.

"Look," Clark said instead. The first aid tips could wait. "I know this is gonna sound weird, but I think there's something in that drink cooler."

"Yeah, you should have stayed away from my girlfriend." His what?

"What are you talking about?" Who was coach Teague's girlfriend? One of the teachers at the school? He didn't know of anyone young enough to interest coach Teague but-

A sudden punch in the stomach knocked the wind out of him. His face suddenly throbbed, and he tasted copper. More bleeding, just great. The coach's fist contacted with his face again, and Clark was sent tumbling backwards in a move that would definitely score him low in any skating competition. He crashed into a pile of boxed-up Halloween decorations, and wondered just how much more pain he'd be in when his mother found out he had ruined her prized hand-made crafts.

He didn't have much time to debate the answer before coach Teague had reached out and pulled sharply on Clark's shirt, yanking the tipsy teen to his feet. He staggered around, and in the process of figuring out which one of the Jason's he should be watching in his double-vision, delusional state, the coach struck him again, this time with another hard blow to his beaten ribs. It hurt.

The coach was nothing but persistent, as he threw punch after punch to Clark's wounded face. All sense of direction tossed out the window, Clark wasn't sure how long it was before he felt himself being pushed backwards, as he made impact with the solid railing and was sent careening through the wooden beams. The fall to the concrete floor seemed to last a lot longer than the few seconds it actually had taken, in which his stomach made a mighty leap and tried to escape from his throat. The actual impact with the ground sent the air in his lungs rushing outwards, as he lost his breath upon feeling – and hearing – a deafening crack from somewhere within his battered body. Yeah, that would leave a mark for a while. That was if he survived.

Clark wasn't even too sure at that point. The world around him swirled in and out of focus, blackness darkening the edges of his vision. Everything hurt. And he didn't know what part of himself to try and protect as he heard coach Teague's footfalls on the loft steps. After all that, he was coming back for more. It just wouldn't end.

He prepared himself for more agony, trying to think of some way to distract coach Teague long enough for Clark to get away. All he could think about was how much it hurt to breathe.

The footsteps drew ever closer, and Clark's pulse steadily quickened.

-

Lois was just getting out of her car a few minutes earlier, when she heard a resounding crash from the barn. Were things ever calm in this town? Maybe the cows were going on a rampage or something. Instinct told her to keep quiet. Maybe that was a good idea; she didn't have much practice in fending off cows.

Walking as quietly as was possible through the farmyard, she headed for the barn. Upon entering she instantly forgot about being quiet; it wouldn't have mattered anyway. Some guy – that assistant coach? – was practically running from Clark's loft. He hesitated for half a second, and then started running again.

What was he doing? Where was he going? What – who –

-

Clark waited for another punch, but it never came. He heard the unmistakable noise of someone being hit and coach Teague muttering something unintelligible. It was then that Clark couldn't hear anything anymore; but he didn't care as he allowed the pain and the blackness to suck him away.

-

Absently rubbing her hand where she'd hit coach Teague's back, Lois looked forward and saw Clark lying spread-eagled across the barn floor.

"Oh good heavens, buddy," she uttered, as she rushed to kneel by his side. Blood poured profusely from various gashes across his face, along with his mouth and nose. The guy looked like he had been thrown in a meat grinder, and judging from his current moaning, blubbering state, Lois guessed that was the same way he was feeling at that moment.

"Clark?" She placed her hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently. "Clark? Smallville, can you hear me?" She shook him once more, and this time his face clenched up in pain as he groaned loudly. Ever so slowly, his blackened eyes flickered open and he gazed around, obviously delusional.

"Hey there, welcome back to the land of the living. Who the hell did you piss off?"

"Lois." It wasn't a question. Clark could recognize the girl's haughty prattle anywhere, even in his half-conscious state. "Wha—What…" he attempted to ask something of her, but he suddenly felt like a drowned rat as liquid filled up his throat and he was left coughing and hacking for breath.

"Whoa! Easy there, Old Faithful!" Lois yelped, leaning back to avoid getting blood splattered on her new shirt. After a few moments Clark had managed to regain control of his breath and lay gasping and cursing at his every movement.

"Damn, Smallville. You look like hell."

"Th-thanks," was his reply, accompanied by a fierce glare through bloody, bruised eyes.

"Yeah, yeah. Up for getting you into the house?" Lois asked him. She wasn't sure she'd be able to move the 6 foot 3 quarterback by herself, and prayed to whatever gods were listening, that the farm boy would stay alert and help her out.

He nodded in response and managed to roll himself onto his side. With much effort, Lois managed to get him to his big farm-boy feet, and they set off towards the Kent house in a mess of limbs and various strings of fowl-language that would've sent Mr. and Mrs. Kent into early retirement.

Some ten minutes later they stumbled upon the porch steps. Lois cursing "dumb farm boys who think they can play football and instead get themselves beat up", and Clark trying to ignore the grinding of his surely broken ribs rubbing against his chest. Yeah, how any human could stand it was still beyond him.

Lois hesitated. Getting across the yard was hard enough; how on earth was she going to drag the Lunkhead up those steps?

"Think you can manage those?" She inquired, tightening the arm she had around his shoulders as he swayed slightly.

"No problem," he mumbled thickly. What had she said? The pain was making it kind of hard to make anything out.

"Sure you can," she muttered sardonically.

Slowly, Lois stepped on the first step. Then the second. Clark stumbled and nearly tripped over the first step, but managed to pull himself up it. It was a slow process, but somehow they made it up the remaining steps. Clark was coughing again, leaning heavily on Lois. How either of them was still standing was a definite miracle.

"You all right?" He obviously wasn't, but Lois felt as though she had to say something.

"Uh huh." She had pretty hair. It was soft too. It was also brushing against his cheek and he was getting it all bloody. He hoped she wouldn't mind. Who knew, maybe he could walk in on her in the shower sometime.

"Earth to Smallville? Planning on dragging yourself inside anytime soon?" She kept her tone light, forcing the concern away. That cough really sounded terrible, but she was no doctor. Maybe it was... normal? Normal by Smallville's standards, at least.

"Hey, where are your parents?" The house was dark and definitely deserted.

"Some over night farm convention thing." He was still slightly coherent. That was good.

"Let's get moving, Kent." She urged him into the adjacent living room. His giant feet stumbled and got caught on one of the area rugs on the floor, but Lois shoved him forward where he collapsed noisily on an over-stuffed sofa in the Kent's living room.

"Ughhh, owww…" Clark moaned out, pulling his arms tightly to his sides, and laying back on the couch.

Curiously, Lois suddenly began tugging at the top of his red-plaid shirt, pulling it down off of his shoulders.

"Lois!" Clark yelped. "What are you – aaaaarrrrrgg – what are you doing!" He attempted to pull his shirt back onto his sore body, but only jostled his beaten ribs even more so, causing him a great deal of pain.

"Oh you big baby, I'm just trying to see if your chest is damaged at all." She again tugged his shirt, this time, right off. "Now, hands off."

"Hello! Hands off?" He coughed, and began gasping for breath. "Look…" wheeze "who's…" gag "talking." He fell into a fit of hacking and coughing, sounding like an old man who had spent too many of his teenage years behind the school smoking.

"Geeze, Smallville. Breathe already." She said exasperatedly and then pushed his weakened arms away from covering his bare torso to reveal a ghastly sight. Dark blue and purple bruises marred his pale skin. His whole left side looked entirely beaten, the bones of his ribs settled at odd angles.

"Oh my god, Clark…" Lois trailed off, as she slowly reached out her hand and ran it gently along an obviously broken rib.

Clark winced in pain. "Ugh, that hurts."

"I bet…" Lois was quiet, staring in anguish at the angry marks on Clark's chest as he struggled with each breath. Suddenly, she leant back and stood up, searching with her eyes frantically for a phone.

"I—I have to call an ambulance. Right now. You need to see a doctor." She stated, speaking quickly.

Clark shook his head, "No…You can't…" He held his arms against his sides once again, his brow knit tightly in pain.

"Why not? Obviously you need help. Clark, you could die."

"No…trust me." He looked up at her pleadingly, "Please Lois. You have to understand."

"But I don't understand!" Lois burst out. "Who was that guy, Clark? And why was he after you? What the hell did you ever do to him? Explain it to me, please!" She spat out her words with sheer force. "I just don't understand…"

Clark sighed – or at least attempted to. "I wish I could explain, Lois…But I can't."

"What do you mean?" She asked indignantly. Was he delirious or something?

"I... I..." His voice was tight with pain and she stopped him.

"Don't talk," she ordered. "Let's say I go along with this ludicrous idea of yours that we don't take you to the hospital. What, will your ribs just magically heal themselves or something?" Her tone became more serious then, "This is dangerous, Clark."

"I-I d-do-don't kn-know," he admitted. "Just t-trust me.

please?"

She sighed, and then relented, at least for the time being. "Fine. Let's at least get the rest of you cleaned up, yeah?"

"O-okay." He managed. It was really getting hard to breathe; slow panic began to take over him.

"I'll be right back. I'm going to find a first aid kit." Then she was gone and he wanted to call her back but his voice wouldn't let him. Breathing was difficult and he began to wonder fearfully if he really might die. He didn't want to die; he was too young.

He wanted his mother. The thought accosted him suddenly; and he was glad it had waited until Lois wasn't here. His parents had always been here when something like this had happened. But they were gone now; and everything hurt even more because of it.

-

"I'm glad your mom's organized," Lois said as she came back into the living room, first aid kit in hand. She looked at him and hesitated in the process of pulling out peroxide. "You okay?"

Physically, of course he wasn't okay. But something had changed in him in the few moments she'd been gone; his eyes looked... haunted?

"Y-yeah." And his voice sounded different too; husky. She didn't press the matter though, chalking it up to the pain and the possible delirium. Removing the lid from the peroxide bottle, and pulling a few cotton swabs from a bag, she continued on dampening the swabs. Avoiding eye contact by all means, Lois moved to press one of the swabs to an especially deep gash on Clark's forehead. She knew from experience that peroxide applied to a fresh wound hurt like hell…but Clark hardly showed any reaction at all. Aside from the slight crinkling at his eyes, he carried on staring down at a place on the floor, completely zoned out.

What's up with him? She wondered deeply. Whatever had happened during the moments in her absence had taken a drastic turn on Clark's emotions. But she didn't think he was willing to give up an answer right then. So for the time being, she kept to her work. Cleaning his cuts, and applying ice she retrieved from the kitchen to his extreme array of bruises. The poor condition of his ribs still worried her, and she could tell it wasn't some minor injury by the raspy shallow gasps of air Clark took in slowly as she worked.

Some time later, amidst a large pile of bloodied cotton swabs and melted ice packs, Lois was gently prodding at a scrape on Clark's arm when his body suddenly sagged to the side, his head rolling forward to his chest.

"Whoa, buddy." Lois yelped, reaching out and grasping the teen's shoulders. "Hey-hey, stay alert here, alright?" Pushing him upwards so he sat straight again.

Clark shook his head and looked up from baggy eye lids to Lois, stared at her for a moment as if trying to get a grasp on what was going on, and then nodded in reply.

"You know what, I think we're done here for now. You look like you could use some sleep before you collapse on the couch again – I really didn't think I was that boring of company." Lois tossed the remaining swabs and the bottle of peroxide back onto the coffee table, and set about getting Clark to stand so they could venture up to his room.

"Okay, Smallville. Up-and-at-em. Sleep will come _after_ you get to bed."

Still appearing to be half asleep, Clark didn't respond. Groggily, he complied with Lois's wishes, pulling himself to his feet. The sharp pain that hit him as they took his weight was more than enough to wake him fully, however.

"Whoa, easy there." Lois's arm came around his shoulders, and he struggled to remain upright, grateful for her support.

Painstakingly, they began their slow progress toward the stairs. Clark was vaguely aware that the pain wasn't quite as intense as it had been during their journey inside the house, but this was a small consolation.

How they made it up the stairs, he would never know. They didn't speak; he wasn't able. Lois seemed to sense this and for once in her life, managed to remain quiet.

She guided him to his room and pushed him gently down on the bed. He looked around blearily, trying to get his bearings. Everything would be fine if the room would just stop spinning…

Something caught his eye. A jacket thrown over a chair. Not his jacket.

His brain finally kicked in. He was in his room. His room where Lois was staying.

"No" he said before he quite realized it.

"What" She stopped in the process of pulling the covers back for him. His clothes were blood stained and dirty, but she figured sleep was his first priority.

"I'm not making you sleep on the couch."

She stared at him in disbelief. "You've just nearly been beaten to death, you're half awake and you're worried about me" She felt strangely flattered but somehow hid it.

"I invited you to stay here, but that didn't mean sleeping on the couch."

"Smallville, I can handle the couch for one night, at least. It's not going to kill me."

But he shook his head. "No."

She grinned. "How do you expect to make it back down the stairs"

He stood indignantly.

And promptly fell back down.

The pain was subtly subsiding, but any movement was still agonizing.

He glared at her. Her only response was to smile serenely back.

"We could always share, you know." His look of absolute shock was priceless.

"What - are you - well"

She gave him a smile. "I was joking, Clark."

"Oh. Right." A pause. "Are you sure you don't mind the couch"

"Yes, I'm sure. Lie down." She nudged him gently toward the pillows.

He slowly obeyed and she hesitated before pulling the blankets over him. He hadn't been tucked in for years and it had always been by his mother. Having Lois do it felt different, but in a good way. A way he could get used to.

"I'm going to go clean up downstairs. I don't think your parents want bloodstains on their couch. Try and get some sleep?" She awkwardly smoothed the blanket and stood back up. He missed her closeness when she did that.

"Lois?" She stopped in the doorway and turned back to face him. "Thanks… for everything."

"Yeah, just wait until you get my bill." Then she was gone and he was left smiling, all be it painfully.

He slid deeper under the covers, his body slowly relaxing. The pain was dissipating, he was certain. Hopefully, it would be gone by morning.

He snuggled deeper into his pillow, sighing. It felt so good to be in his own bed again; the sheets smelling like laundry soap and –

He detected a faint scent of something. Like flowers, but not as sickeningly sweet as whatever perfume the cheerleaders wore at school.

Lois's shampoo, he realized suddenly. He'd only smelt it a few times; once or twice in the bathroom, and when she'd hugged him a few weeks earlier. Her hair had surrounded his face, and he'd been overwhelmed momentarily by her softness; by the unexpected warmth she brought to him, something he'd never quite felt before from anyone's embrace.

He concentrated on that feeling, that indescribable bliss her arms had brought him for the brief seconds they'd encircled him.

And without even realizing it, he was asleep, his face pressed into his pillow they'd both shared.

-

Some time later, Lois slipped upstairs, on the pretense of getting her pajamas. Slipping stealthily into her – Clark's – their room, she looked at him. He was asleep, his face pressed in the pillow.

Getting her pajamas, she lingered in the doorway for another moment. She couldn't bring herself to leave; what if he had a concussion?

She'd have to trust him though, she decided resignedly.

"If you die Smallville, I'll kill you," she promised in a whisper that was more concern than threat. With that, she slipped out the door, giving him a fond smile he didn't see.


End file.
